A beautiful thing to behold
by irisdouglasiana
Summary: Pre-season 1. Daniel and Peggy lead separate but parallel lives in New York. Sometimes, they intersect.
In a sense, Peggy never really comes home from the war. She goes back to her parents' house in London and visits Michael's grave. Her mother asks her if she wants to go into nursing or secretary school (until she finds a husband, of course) and Peggy is amazed at how little they know her. There is no future for her here. It's not long before she catches a flight to New York to continue her position with the SSR, even though it's not quite how she hoped it would be. She knows her work is not yet finished.

After Daniel comes home from the war, he barely even recognizes himself in the mirror. His father is alarmed at how much weight he's lost and keeps encouraging him to eat more, eat more. He makes all of his son's favorite meals and constantly brings him snacks—please, just eat a little bit, okay? Eventually, Daniel gains the weight back and starts exercising more to improve his muscle tone. Now, when he looks in the mirror, he looks like his old self again. He just doesn't feel like it.

* * *

The first thing Peggy does in the morning is put the teakettle on the stove. By the time the water is boiling, she's already washed up and dressed. She takes a few minutes to drink her tea and skim the papers and if she's feeling hungry, she'll have a piece of toast. Then she's out the door and off to work, hopefully on time. Her morning routine takes less than twenty minutes.

Daniel's morning routine is a lot longer. Breakfast is two eggs, a muffin, and a large cup of coffee. Then there's shaving, combing his hair, and brushing his teeth. The longest part is getting dressed—putting on his prosthetic leg, putting on pants while seated, and then everything else. Pairing the right tie with the right sweater vest takes careful thought and he sometimes changes his mind halfway through. Since his wardrobe contains a dozen sweater vests and approximately twenty ties, it's never an easy decision.

* * *

Peggy's desk is usually covered in papers and notes and files, though the drawers are neatly organized and she keeps almost no personal effects in there. She resents any implication that she ought to keep a cleaner workspace. Nobody complains about the crumbs and used tissues all over Krzeminski's desk or how Ramirez has his papers stacked so high you can hardly see him sitting behind them. Thompson once suggested that it was unladylike to put her feet up on her desk, so she starts doing it more often just to annoy him.

Daniel keeps all sorts of junk in his desk drawers. He's got family pictures, old receipts, candy, and ticket stubs from horse races and baseball games. He does try to keep his work better organized; it's just that he has a lot of extra stuff. Once, he clears everything out while Carter watches from the desk behind him, looking amused at the assortment of random items. Find any hundred dollar bills in there? she asks him. Not yet, he laughs.

* * *

Peggy's smart mouth gets her in trouble. One quiet afternoon at the office, Krzeminski is telling everyone a dirty story about some girl he dated, sparing no details. Come off it, Krzeminski, Daniel complains—there's a lady present. Peggy rolls her eyes. She knows he means well, but it's not like she'll faint from hearing a vulgar joke or two. Once Krzeminski's finished, Peggy starts recounting the dirtiest story she knows. It's mostly true, but she adds in a few embellishments just for fun. When she gets to the punchline, all the agents are staring at her open-mouthed—including Chief Dooley. He immediately calls her into his office for a reprimand, but then he adds, That was the filthiest thing I've ever heard, Carter. I'll have to remember that one.

Daniel's smart mouth gets him in trouble. He rather aggressively gets on Thompson's case during a meeting regarding the interrogation of a certain suspect, which had been going well until Thompson broke the man's jaw. Thompson is pissed—Did they send you back from the war with a stick up your ass along with that wooden leg, or have you always been like this?

Daniel snaps, Did they send _you_ back with a wooden brain?

Dooley's not pleased with either of them and calls them into his office separately. Sousa, he sighs, you weren't wrong. But I'm chief here. Remember your place.

Daniel nods. Yes, sir.

* * *

Peggy enjoys exploring New York. One of the things she likes best about this city is the feeling of anonymity when she walks down the street. She familiarizes herself with the different neighborhoods, visits the tourist traps to pick up souvenirs for her parents, and discovers her new favorite diner. The L&L Automat is clean and well-lit, the food is decent and reasonably priced, and if Angie's working she'll come over and keep Peggy company. It's good to have at least one friend in New York, though Peggy's careful to keep her distance. Maybe she's being paranoid, but she's determined that nobody else in her life will come to harm because they know her.

Daniel's a New Yorker through and through. Even in a city this size, he's constantly running into people he knows—old classmates, his father's friends, even an ex-girlfriend (or two). When he meets somebody he hasn't seen since he came back from the war, he'll put on a smile and politely deflect questions about _how he's been getting along_. I'm doing great, he tells them. Usually they'll get the hint and change the subject to something safe. Daniel knows he ought to be making more of an effort to socialize, but he can't bring himself to do it. It's strange to feel so isolated while surrounded by thousands of people.

* * *

There's not much time for leisure, but Peggy goes to see Broadway shows on Saturday nights when she gets the chance. She doesn't find the stories themselves terribly interesting and much of the acting is mediocre, but she loves the music and the dancing. She always saves the programs and lyric sheets. Sometimes at work, she'll start humming the tunes and only realize it when Daniel turns around to look at her. Isn't that from that musical about Oklahoma? he asks her one time. Peggy tries not to blush. I don't know what you're talking about, she says.

On the weekends, Daniel and his father go out to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. They've been going to games ever since he was young, and over the years they've built up a collection of stray balls, hats, and other items. They take these games extremely seriously and always arrive early to find the best seats. Daniel and his father aren't nearly as rude as some of the other fans, but they'll jeer and shout along with everyone else after a bad play. They celebrate with a beer any time the Dodgers beat the Yankees. Some things never change.

* * *

Sometimes when Peggy is at her apartment and feeling melancholy, she moves the furniture out of the way, turns up the radio, and dances with an imaginary partner. Usually her partner is Steve. Occasionally, it's her brother Michael, or somebody else from the past she's been thinking of lately. Sometimes they carry on conversations that never happened, and other times there is nothing to be said. Peggy loses herself in the steps and the music, going back and forth and back and forth until something distracts her out of her reverie. Then she switches off the radio and collapses on her bed, alone once more.

Daniel is often the last person left at the office. He likes the feeling of having the entire place to himself. On those nights, he turns on the radio and sings along as he works and doesn't care how loud he is. One time, he thought he was alone but didn't realize Chief Dooley was still in his office with the door closed and the blinds drawn. Daniel nearly died of embarrassment when the chief walked outside. Dooley didn't say anything, but he looked like he was trying very hard to hold back laughter. After that, Daniel's careful to check to make sure the office is truly empty before turning up the radio.

* * *

Peggy writes a lot of letters, but she doesn't send many of them. She does write to her parents every week; short and bland letters about the weather, the food, bits of trivia. She'll send postcards to friends back in London when she thinks of it. The longer, more substantive letters are addressed to people who are gone. She'll write to Michael when she learns a particularly funny joke, or to Steve when she's feeling lost. Peggy keeps the letters for a few days before burning them.

Daniel doesn't write, but he does draw—doodles, rather. He has no pretensions about artistic talent. Most of his drawings are odd squiggles and random shapes, though he does do a few caricatures of his coworkers (Krzeminski did not appreciate the one Daniel did of him, needless to say). Sometimes he just likes drawing lines. He'll cover an entire sheet with as many lines as he can fit on there, running parallel to each other and never intersecting.

* * *

Peggy finds herself lost in the same dream over and over again. She's standing on a road, surrounded by thick fog. Is there anyone there? she calls, listening to her voice echo. Nobody answers, and so she starts walking. At the end of the road she comes to two doors. The one on the right is the door to her parents' home in London. She opens it and sees her mother and father sitting at the kitchen table with a ham and mashed potatoes. There are two empty seats: one for her, one for Michael. They've been waiting for their children for so long.

The door on the left opens into darkness. There is the sound of wind rushing through a tunnel and the rumbling of machinery. Somewhere far away, a man is calling her name. His voice is familiar but she can't place it. She always wakes up before she can answer him.

Daniel goes to bed late and wakes up early. Some nights he never goes to sleep at all; a habit he got into because of all the nightmares he was having. He would wake up covered in sweat, his hands curled into fists, tears pouring down his face. When he first came home and it happened every night, his father would come in and hold him and say, It's okay, Daniel, you're safe. Now the nightmares are less frequent—just once a week, if he's lucky—but he can't get back to a normal sleeping pattern. So instead he watches the sunrise from the office while the city comes alive below him. It's a beautiful thing to behold.

* * *

Peggy doesn't live too far from work and likes to walk when she can. But on rainy days or when she's especially late, she'll take the subway. She doesn't like the subway very much; it's too dark and damp and once she saw a rat the size of a small dog. She'll pick a window seat and bury her face in the newspaper so strange men will be less inclined to talk to her, though they do it anyway.

Then, one morning, Peggy sees a familiar face. She smiles and sits down next to him.

You must be running late.

Couldn't decide which tie I wanted to wear this morning.

I think you picked the right one.

Thank you, Daniel says. He looks rather pleased with himself.

They don't say much for the rest of the trip. Daniel leans back and closes his eyes while Peggy looks out the window and watches as they pull away from the platform. Her heart starts beating faster as they pick up speed, and for the first time in ages, she feels lighter. It feels like she's racing away into the future; it feels like coming home.


End file.
